Owen Windbreaker Novels & Stories

Their hair was overgrown in the same manner as Owen’s had been getting over the last few months, and their faces just slightly rough with stubble in the way men seemed to prefer, but which had always given her a rash when Owen had let his grow that way. Their clothing was almost studied casual, the cuffs of jeans and sleeves rolled back, shirts over t-shirts, and everything untucked, as if they had just crawled out of bed and thrown on what was lying around in order to answer the door. It was, she thought, very much how Owen dressed now, a style she had decided to call Contrived Casual. Was this how rockers dressed? She had imaged more leather. Like the jacket that Owen seemed to prefer over

"Uncle Owen, I was wrong. I never should have left home. I shouldn't have hurt you for an unworthy man. I'm so sorry." Owen Lowes, a man hardened by years of service, felt his gruff exterior melt away as he saw the tear-streaked face of his niece. He knelt before her, the polished medals on his chest glinting under the harsh overhead light, a stark contrast to the trembling girl huddled in a chair. His large hands, accustomed to wielding a rifle, were surprisingly gentle as he pulled her into a loose embrace. Her sobs, raw and guttural, echoed in the sterile room, a stark symphony of grief and bewilderment.

Owen's third anniversary post must have reminded her, so she bought it on the way home. What she didn't know was that I already had two belts of this style in my closet. I didn't speak, just looked straight at her. "By the way, the year-end is coming up. Can you give up this year's airline excellence award? Owen's been in the industry for three years, and his biggest wish is to win the airline's best award, just like you. "You've won it several years in a row. Can you let him have it this year?" Her expression seemed hesitant as she said this.

Accepting the exquisite box from Jasmine, Audrey opened it to find a platinum tie clip adorned with sapphires at both ends, looking rather pricey. Just then, Owen descended the grand and royal–European–style spiral staircase. He was dressed in a tailored purple suit and a black silk shirt with a rose pattern, looking extremely exquisite. Jasmine gazed at her dream man, her mouth slightly agape in shy admiration, almost drooling. “Owen!” Audrey called out sweetly. Initially, Owen had a doting smile for his sister, but upon seeing Jasmine, his eyes turned cold and standoffish. “Ms. Jasmine, what brings you here?”

Why, I hardly believe you‘re the same man who came into my store! ―I can‘t believe it either.‖ Owen touched his chest. Yes, it was him alright, but he‘d never worn a suit in his entire life. It just didn‘t look like him. ―Here‘s your suit jacket.‖ ―Wow. This must be expensive.‖ He touched the fabric before he slipped it on. ―Don‘t worry about it. The sheriff‘s paying.‖ ―What?‖ Owen stopped fastening the buttons and shook

Owen, the head of servants in the Royal Pack, snarled at me. He was holding two black buckets whose content he just poured all over me. My hair and the dark brown dress I was given three days ago were dripping. The chilly air of the night wasn’t helping my case– everything was against me. “I d-doze—” I tried to speak but my teeth chattered and I instinctively wrapped my arms around my body, “You dozed?” Owen hissed.

It would hold so many more memories than this blandly decorated room in the pack house. “Who is it, Mommy?” asked Owen, sidling over to me and smiling. He already had a pair of binoculars around his neck - who knew where he'd got those from? - and a flipbook and pencil in his hands. I just smiled down at him and took his hand. “Come with me.”

I saw families and couples strolling along the riverside below. They all looked so happy and accomplished. I felt like a total failure. With a sigh, I went back inside. I rummaged through the boxes. I tried to find something suitable to wear tonight. I came across Owen's favorite dress. A short, off-the-shoulder burgundy dress that hugged my body tight and accentuated my natural curves. “If he's going to take revenge, I might as well make him sweat a little. That'll remind him of what he's missing.” I thought to myself with a giggle.

Curiously, I followed everyone's gaze, ignoring the black devil at my front and stared at what made everyone gasp. The eye roll building up in me got stuck when I saw why everyone gasped. Owen strutted in, a slightly oversized white tank top thrown over his torso and a black cargo shorts. No, that wasn't what captured my attention, I mean, it did, but this — authority oozed out of him as he walked further into the field, the evening breeze messed with his hair, sending them flying into his face. Owen ran his hand through them, trying to tame those strands with a narrowed look on his face.

But still, I felt nothing but rage and pure hatred for him, considering the kind of man he was. Sighing, I stared at the dress Owen sent, a floor-length emerald green piece with a daring slit up the side. The fabric shimmered faintly under the light, making it look far more expensive than anything I’d ever owned. The matching clutch and heels sat beside it, equally as pretty.